Conversations in Hospital Rooms
by Sebe
Summary: Derek and the Sheriff stand at Stiles' side, injured and sleeping, but okay. Questions are asked and understandings are reached. Sterek and concerned papa Stilinski-ness.


Author's Notes: Stiles is injured in the latest melee. The Sheriff witnesses him standing up for his pack and Derek saving his son. With Stiles safe and recovering, the two have a stilted, and long overdue chat. Hopefully awkwardly funny, but sweet too. For the sake of the story, the Sheriff already knows about werewolves and is okay with it. He's actually more on edge that Derek Hale could be dating his son, werewolf or not.

Summary: Derek and the Sheriff stand at Stiles' side, injured and sleeping. Questions are asked and understandings are reached. Sterek and concerned papa Stilinski-ness.

**Conversations in Hospital Rooms**

The Sheriff shifted a bit, standing in a hospital room next to his sleeping son with Derek Hale. He prided himself on being straightforward and at ease in any situation, but there was just no good way to ask if a former suspected murderer was dating his son and what his intentions were. Male or female didn't matter to him, but Stiles was his boy. His son who had grown up far too fast with eyes far too old; who, when he loved, did so fiercely, blindly. He would always be unreasonably protective of him.

But Derek seemed to be too, especially if tonight was any indication. That was the main reason he hadn't tried to shoot the kid yet.

"You and Stiles…" the man trailed off, making a helpless sweeping motion toward his son. In theory, he thought he was too old to die from embarrassment or awkwardness. In practice, he wasn't so sure.

Hale, for his part, stood just as he had a moment ago, back straight, fingers just brushing Stiles' hand in a way the Sheriff was sure he thought his father wouldn't notice.

Wrong.

Derek didn't turn his head, but the Sheriff saw the man's eyes flicker to look at him sidelong, wary. But if the wolf was at all shaken, it didn't show in his voice, strong and sure.

"Yes." The Sheriff let out a breath. Half relief at not having to finish his question, and half just a long-suffering sigh because what had his son gotten himself into this time? Still, he plowed on and this time, the words were effortless. There were a thousand questions he could ask, should ask, but he knew the one that mattered.

"What is he to you?"

At that, Derek leaned forward a bit. He didn't really move, just…curled in; something about the way he held himself softening till the Sheriff almost thought he was seeing a different person. It shocked him a bit.

In the past 24 hours, he'd seen Hale as a still-possible serial killer (who happened to be a werewolf) and watched him fight with, and for, his pack. He'd seen him exasperated, but strangely tolerating, as he listened to Stiles ramble meanderingly even as they headed off to what promised to be a bloody confrontation. He'd seen Derek blind with rage and finally, he'd watched, eyes wide in his own horror as Stiles went down defending the betas, as Derek snarled and lunged and howled, bowing himself over his injured son protectively. Now…

Now the Sheriff just saw the worried kid that, like his own, had grown up too soon. The hard lines of tension in the wolf's body finally relenting with tentative relief at the promise that what he loved, what he'd held tightly and tenderly in his arms the entire way to the hospital, was going to be okay.

Something close to a smile stole across Derek's face as he looked at Stiles and it was so easy to see the devotion in his normally carefully schooled expression, that he wondered how he'd missed it before. In the last day, the Sheriff's fledgling suspicions about the two had been more than confirmed. It wasn't obvious, not even in Stiles. If he hadn't raised the kid, he'd have missed the undercurrent of worry in his constant chattering earlier; he'd have thought he'd misread the adoration in his son's voice. If nothing else, it was good to see that those feelings were returned, maybe a few times over.

Derek curled his hand around Stiles', weaving their fingers together in a complicated way born of much practice and not just a little instinct. This wasn't new.

"More than I meant to let him be." Like he knew the Sheriff would want a bit more than that, he added, "Home."

When Derek said the word, it was like the wolf was only just realizing the truth of it as it came out of his mouth. The Sheriff saw his fingers tighten over his son's. It was exactly what he needed to hear and see.

The Sheriff slid a chair over toward Derek with his foot, smiling as the other man took the gesture in for what it was with wide, surprised eyes. They settled down, one on each side of the bed. They didn't need to speak to each other to know the purpose in that. Honey-gold eyes were going to open and see them there together and, because it was Stiles, there was going to be flailing and shouting.

This would not be good for the healing of his injury-prone kid and the Sheriff wasn't exactly surprised that Derek seemed to know that too. They shared a wry, knowing look and waited, ready to gently restrain their assigned soon-to-be-flailing limbs until they could calm Stiles down and assure him that, no, they weren't going to kill each other and no one was going to jail.

As the minutes ticked by and Derek's eyes never left the teen's still face, the Sheriff found himself appreciating the idea of having someone else there to look after his kid who was forever stumbling into one new impossible mess after another. He was settling down rather comfortably into the idea of a son-in-law. But he supposed that was a discussion for another day.


End file.
